


More Than That

by proudlygoingnowhere



Category: Sing Street (2016)
Genre: 80s culture, Bands, Dublin - Freeform, M/M, Mild Angst, Music, Sing Street - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-09-08 03:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8828887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proudlygoingnowhere/pseuds/proudlygoingnowhere
Summary: Conor doesn't know where he belongs in life.He's fairly introverted, doesn't have too much to be proud of, and his turbulent family life only makes things worse.But then he meets Eamon, and everything changes.





	1. Chapter 1

Conor craned his neck, trying to find a quiet spot amidst the enormous crowd. The only source of light allowing him to see was a dim chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and maybe the occasional glowstick. He suddenly spotted a small, unoccupied area of floor near the men’s room, so he pushed his way through the throng until he was safe. Heaving a great sigh, Conor leaned against the wall, his head spinning. Concerts weren’t particularly his thing, but what else was he supposed to do on a Sunday night? Sit alone in his bedroom, wallowing in his own self-pity? If only his mate Darren hadn’t persuaded him to go with him in the first place…

Where _was_ Darren, anyway? Just fifteen minutes ago, they were buying drinks at the snack bar together, and some time between then and now he had vanished. Conor’s eyes darted around the crowd, hoping to spot his ginger-haired friend. No luck.

The Gallery was the most popular concert venue for teenagers in Dublin. Nearly every evening, whether it was a school night or the weekend, the place was filled with adolescents from schools all over the city. The Gallery held a good reputation for the fountain drinks they served, as well as the local bands that they hired to play during the dinner hour. The bands were really the best part. The music ranged from covers to original songs; from rock n’ roll to reggae. No matter what it was, the musicians were always outstanding, and received loud encores every time they tried to leave the stage. At the moment, the band of the evening was wrapping up their final song, and the crowd was going insane, giving Conor a headache.

 _Maybe I should just get another drink and go home_ , Conor thought, closing his eyes. _It’s nearly midnight, and I’m not even having that much fun anyway._

He made his way over to the drinks, and reached into his pocket to pull out some cash so that he could pay for his drink. But as he was handing the cashier a dollar bill, someone jostled him from behind, sending all of his money tumbling to the floor.

“Shit,” Conor muttered, stooping down to pick it up. His fingers extended out to grab one of the bills, but as he tried to pull it towards him, a foot stomped down on top of the money. In one fluid motion, the dollar split straight down the middle.

 _GodDAMN_. As if the night couldn’t get any worse…

Suddenly, someone was kneeling next to Conor, scooping up the rest of his money.

“Hey, that’s my --” Conor began.

“I know, I’m just try’na help,” the stranger said, speaking in a calm voice.

Conor looked up at the person next to him. It was a teenage boy, about his age, with a poufy brown mullet and a sympathetic expression on his face. Hazel eyes gazed at him behind round, wire-rimmed glasses. The boy’s hand was splayed to display an array of coins and dollar bills. “Take it,” he said.

Without hesitating to say thank you, Conor snatched his money out of the boy’s hand. Heart pounding, he grabbed his drink and jumped up, his headache growing worse.

“Sorry for bumping into you back there,” the boy said, adjusting his glasses.

“Y-yeah, it’s okay, really,” Conor replied, trying to brush it off like it was nothing. He was growing extremely exhausted, and desired to go home as soon as possible.

The boy seemed to have picked up on Conor’s fatigue, and thankfully did not try and make further conversation. “Cool,” he said, staring at him. “Well, see you, mate.” He strolled off into the crowd, giving Conor a friendly nudge on the arm as he passed. A slight tingle spread through Conor’s arm where the boy had nudged him, making Conor blush. For a split second, he considered catching up to the boy and asking him for his info, but remembering how knackered he was changed his mind, so he reluctantly sauntered towards the exit. _Jesus, what a night it’s been_ , he thought. _Remind me never to go to a concert ever again._

___

 

The next day at school was anything but enjoyable. During first period, Conor realised he had stayed out way longer than he should have, and the teacher yelled at him for nearly falling asleep at his desk. By lunchtime, the only thing keeping Conor from collapsing from sleep deprivation was the mere thought of a nice, hot, homemade lunch by himself, in a secluded part of the cafeteria. However, Darren had other plans for him.

“Where did you go off to last night?” Darren asked, dragging Conor out of his corner by the shirt collar.

“What do you mean?” Conor asked.

“I mean, why did you disappear out of thin air at the concert?” Darren explained, sounding betrayed. “I went to talk to Barry for two -- _two_ \-- bleedin’ seconds, and then you was gone!” He shook Conor by the shoulders.

“As I recall, _you_ initially abandoned _me,_ you twat,” Conor retorted, pulling away from his friend’s grasp. “And I eventually left altogether because I wasn’t having fun. I don’t see why you made me come with you in the first place, you know I hate concerts.”

Darren sighed. “Alright, mate, I guess it was my fault. Sorry.” His eyes lit up. “But you totally missed out on Ngig getting completely _hammered_ after downing four cans of beer. That was _deadly_.”

“Beer?” Conor asked, suddenly alarmed. “Where’d you get beer from? You’re all underage!”

“Barry smuggled some in through his coat.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“So how’d the rest of _your_ night go, then?” Darren blurted out. “Didja meet anyone?”

“No, not really,” Conor lied. “It was pretty dry shite, to be real.” He stared at the floor.

Darren peered at him, as if he knew Conor was lying. “C’mon, mate, who’d you see?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Well, a guy bumped into me on my way out of the venue, and knocked all my cash to the floor, but it wasn’t that big of a deal,” Conor said quickly, trying not to make a big deal out of it.

Darren’s expression turned to surprise. “Oy, me friend Eamon told me he accidentally made a guy lose his cash during the concert last night,” he said, amused.

“Um, who?” Conor asked, confused.

“Eamon. I think he’s the guy you bumped into last night,” Darren explained. “He’s my best friend outside of school, and my neighbor. Me and him had some casual bants this morning before school.”

Conor nodded. “Oh.” _What do you know… Dublin’s smaller than I thought it was._

“He told me that you seemed like a cool dude,” Darren continued. “Said that if I knew the chap he’d stumbled into, I should give him this.” He handed Conor a slip of wrinkled paper. “It’s his address, says you can stop by at any time after school and on the weekends to hang out with him. Open invitation.”

“Oh,” Conor repeated, slightly quieter. “Thanks, Darren.”

Well. This was strange. Had Eamon somehow mind-read Conor, knowing that Conor had also wanted to be friends with him? No, that was impossible. The only logical answer was a mutual interest in friendship. This was surprising, since almost no one that Conor met had wanted to be friends with him instantaneously after meeting him. In fact, the only reason why Darren was his friend was because Darren had generously saved him from being beaten up by the school bully. But other than that, Conor was like the living embodiment of vinegar amongst a swarm of flies.

“Anytime,” Darren replied, bringing Conor back to reality. “Eamon’s a cool guy, I’m sure you’d get on.”

Feeling overwhelmed, Conor shoved the slip of paper into the deepest pocket of his bookbag, bid Darren a hasty farewell, and made for the toilets.

_

 

Conor arrived home that afternoon to find his parents having another row in the kitchen. He quietly crept up to his bedroom, his parents’ angry shouting echoing up the staircase. His older brother, Brendan, had locked himself in his bedroom, and Conor speculated that he was taking another long, hungover nap. His older sister’s bedroom door was wide open as usual, suggesting that she was out someplace with friends. He stepped into his own bedroom and slammed the door, dropping his bag and coat in the middle of the floor. Conor collapsed onto his duvet and stared at the plain white ceiling, allowing his mind to wander.

Throughout the evening, Conor’s parents continued to argue, and with every curse word and insult that they hurled at each other, things seemed to be getting worse. During supper, his father slammed his fist down on the table with too much force, breaking a plate. While Conor was finishing his school work, he heard his mother banging dresser drawers over and over, muttering swear words all the while, which was always not a good sign. Eventually, things became too noisy, and Conor’s head pounded from the amount of noise and anguish coming from his household. He needed a quiet place to be without any sort of interruptions, and he sure as hell wasn’t getting one in the house.

Throwing on his jacket, Conor pondered over the potential places he could go to get away from his boisterous family. _I could stop at the library_ , he thought, slipping into his shoes. _No, wait, it’s way too late in the evening, the library wouldn’t even be open._

_Perhaps I could try Darren’s house… but what if they’re all out to dinner, or they have guests over? Maybe not, then…_

_I mean, I could just sit outside, on the front steps. Then again, I should probably re-think that, since there’s a high chance of me getting mugged out there. If only I had --_

Conor’s train of thought froze, a place suddenly coming to his mind. Without stopping to think twice, Conor opened up his bookbag, rummaged around the biggest pocket, and pulled out the paper Darren had gifted to him just hours ago. His whole body trembling, Conor opened his bedroom window and climbed out into the night.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Ding-dong._

Conor stood anxiously on the front stoop, hoping for someone to answer the door. He was pretty sure this was Eamon’s house; after all, he’d double checked the house number several times before ringing the bell.

The door swung open, and Eamon stood in the doorway, holding a white rabbit. Conor stared in amazement, then caught himself. “Uh… what’re you doing?” he asked, gesturing towards the furry creature.

“Oh, just… rabbit stuff,” Eamon replied casually, quickly glancing down at the rabbit. It seemed to be attempting to wriggle out of its owner’s grasp, to no avail. “How come you’re here at this hour?”

“My, um, my house is… loud,” Conor said sheepishly. “I can’t get any peace and quiet while I’m there. I was hoping I could stay at your house for a bit… if that’s okay.”

“ ‘Course, come in,” Eamon replied, the corners of his mouth turning upwards to form a smile. He pulled the door open wider, and stepped aside to let Conor through.

“It’s awfully quiet,” Conor noted aloud. “Where’s your parents?”

“Me mam, she’s fast asleep,” Eamon replied, leading Conor into the living room. “And me dad’s on the lash, probably getting pissed off his ass like usual.”

Conor raised his eyebrows, wanting to ask further questions, but thought better of it. Instead he said, “You’ve got a lot of instruments in here.” He gestured to the large selection in a corner on the other side of the room. Sure enough, there was an entire pile of instruments of varying sizes, that looked as if they had been used every single day.

“Yeah, I’m sort of a music junkie,” Eamon said, blushing. He set his rabbit down on top of the windowsill, then went over to the jumble and picked up a bright red electric guitar. “I can play all of these” -- he motioned to the instrument pile -- “as well as a few others.”

“Wow,” Conor remarked. “That’s really impressive.”

Eamon smiled diffidently, rolling his eyes in a way that made Conor’s stomach flutter. “Not really,” he muttered.

“Don’t be a muppet,” Conor replied, taking a seat on the faded yellow sofa. “It’s, like, insane talent. I mean, I can’t play an instrument at all.”

Eamon raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. “Oh… Well that’s alright, I’m sure you have some other talent to make up for it.” He began to lightly strum a tune on the guitar, softly humming along.

“Haha,” Conor scoffed, giving a sarcastic smirk. He was rewarded with a chuckle from Eamon. “I don’t actually have any talent, though.”

“C’mon, you must be good at art or something,” Eamon insisted, staring at him intently.

“Not particularly.”

“Mathematics?”

“Hate it.”

“History?”

“I can’t memorize dates very well.”

“Writing?”

“Sort of… but it’s not really a talent.”

Eamon’s stare turned to an expression of disbelief. “Writing’s a talent,” he contended. “For instance, songwriting. That takes writing talent.”

“I’m not much of a musician,” Conor replied. “I only write poems and stuff.”

“Poems are a perfect start to songwriting,” Eamon responded. “Here, why don’t you and I write a song together.”

Conor was suddenly taken aback. “N-Now?” he asked, feeling his body shaking.

“Sure, right now.” Eamon left the room, and returned several seconds later with a notepad and a pen. “So why don’t you write the lyrics, and I’ll come up with the music.”

“Um… okay.” Conor reluctantly seized the pen and paper. This was not how he had pictured his evening to play out.

“I’ll walk you through the process,” Eamon said, sitting next to him on the couch. “First things first, what kind of songs d’you want to write? Like, what subject would your songs revolve around?”

Conor shrugged, unsure of a good answer. “Dunno, maybe… love?” He looked down. “I don’t really think much about things that would make good song subjects.”

Eamon nodded slowly. “Well, alright, that’s a start. Write that down.”  

Conor scrawled _Love_ on the paper.

“Now, do you by any chance remember any poems you’ve written about love?” Eamon asked.

Conor hesitated. Because of his lack of experience with love, he hadn’t had the opportunity to write anything extremely mind-blowing about the subject. He’d hardly fancied anyone before, so there was nothing he could really write without seeming ignorant. The only thing that came to mind was the poem he had written a year ago, about a local fashion model whom he had sort of developed feelings for, but he never got the chance to speak to. “Yeah, there’s one,” he answered, “although it’s not very good.”

“Not good is perfectly okay,” Eamon assured him, placing a hand on Conor’s shoulder. Conor’s heart flipped over in excitement, and he felt his cheeks grow bright red. “Every song needs to start rough in order to get better.”

 

_

 

Throughout the rest of night, they concentrated on writing the song. Some of Conor’s lyrics didn’t make the most sense, but Eamon found a way to make them work. When they got frustrated while polishing some of the lyrics, they took short breaks, either to check out the menagerie of rabbits that Eamon kept in his bedroom upstairs, or to simply snack on the occasional bag of crisps. Conor soon forgot about why he had left his house in the first place, concentrating his mind only on Eamon and the songwriting. By 10pm, he began to feel tired, but Eamon kindly insisted that they push on, and try and finish their work.

At last, at 1am, the final, polished version of their song was completed. Both boys were exhausted beyond belief, but were satisfied with the end result of the song. Conor collapsed in the middle of the living room floor, his hand cramping from writing. Eamon lay next to him, staring up at the ceiling.

“We did it,” Conor breathed, his mind exploding.

“No, _you_ did it,” Eamon corrected him, sitting up. He grinned, his eyes sparkling with delight. “You wrote a song, Conor.”

Several seconds went by, Conor still unable to process his accomplishment. “I did,” he said slowly, amazed. “Wow.” He looked over at Eamon, who was still beaming at him. Eamon’s eyes were still bright as ever, despite the need for sleep overcoming him, and something about his sweater sleeves pushed up to his elbows made Conor’s heart jump. As much as Conor wanted to distract himself from these thoughts, he simply couldn’t. _Jesus, he looks striking_ , he found himself thinking. _The hair, the glasses, the outfit, all of it… I can’t handle it… he’s quite the ride_.

“Oy, Conor, you okay?”

Conor snapped, and realised he had been staring at Eamon for a little too long. “Oh… uh… I’m… yeah.”

“Somethin’ the matter?” Eamon leaned forward, gently placed a hand on Conor’s knee. Conor’s brain turn to mush. “No… well, I mean, yes,” Conor stuttered, “It’s just that, uh --”

As if he had read Conor’s mind, Eamon suddenly leaned in further, and placed his hand under Conor’s chin, cutting him off. A zap of electricity shot through Conor’s body, growing more heated as Eamon got closer. The following seconds happened in slow motion. Conor sucked in his breath, his whole body frozen.

Then their lips connected, and the world melted around them.

And as soon as it had started, it was over.

Both boys breathed heavily, in shock, their eyes glued to one another.

“I-I’m sorry,” Eamon murmured, quickly backing away. He sat down hard on the floor, his cheeks flushed. “I shouldn't've done that.”

Conor felt his face go red from embarrassment. He looked for something to say, but nothing came up. Sure, he had enjoyed it, and that was what he had been wanting to do ever since he had laid eyes on Eamon. But at a time like this, it wasn’t right. They had barely known each other for 48 hours, and Conor didn’t doubt that snogging another male was probably against the law in Ireland. Heaven forbid if his parents found out - they’d disown him on the spot.

 _Just kiss him back_ , _you tool,_ Conor thought to himself. _Do it. That’s the only logical reaction._

_No, I can’t, I hardly even know him. Once was enough._

_But you have feelings for him, don’t you?_

_…Yes._

_So what are you waiting for? DO IT!_

_I--_

“I CAN’T!” The last part he cried aloud, startling himself. His breathing became quick as he panicked, trying to cover up his outburst.

Eamon’s face was a mixture of confusion and concern. “Conor, what’s going on?”

“I… I should really go.” Conor struggled to his feet and threw on his jacket.

“But--”

“It’s really late, Eamon. I’ll see you later.” Conor threw open the front door and rushed outside. He could hear Eamon calling after him, begging him to stay. It took all of his willpower not to glance over his shoulder one last time as he bolted home.


	3. Chapter 3

“Conor, where are you? You’re going to be late for school!”

Conor moaned and rolled over, unwilling to get out of bed. He lazily reached for the alarm clock beside his bed. 8:05am. School started in ten minutes. _ Dammit _ . He really  _ was _ going to be late.

“Conor Lawlor, get yourself out of bed right now!” His mother was making her way up the stairs and towards his room. “Do  _ not _ make me come in there!”

He slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. He was fatigued beyond belief, which made perfect sense because he had spent practically the entire evening at Eamon’s house. Doing what, he couldn’t remember. His brain was too foggy to remember anything right now.

His mother burst through the door, looking extremely peeved. “You’re not even out of  _ bed _ yet?” She grabbed Conor’s arm and pulled him out from under his duvet, then proceeded to rummage through his closet and toss pieces of his school uniform onto the floor. “Put on your clothes, now. I don’t pay a ridiculously expensive school tuition fee just for you to arrive late every single day!” She paused. “Also, what in the world were you up to last night? You look much more sleep deprived than usual.”

“Oh, uh. Um. Nothing.”

“Whatever you say,” she replied, shaking her head. Conor could sense the apprehension in her voice, but was relieved that she did not say more. 

Suddenly, a loud knock erupted from the front hall. 

“Who in their right mind would be here at this hour?” his mother said, growing exasperated. Conor volunteered to answer the door, but she cut him off. “No. You get ready for school. I’ll get it.” She exited the room and disappeared down the stairs.

Moments later, he heard his mother shout, “Conor! There’s someone at the door waiting for you!”

Conor practically jumped into his clothing, and raced downstairs, doing up his tie as he went. He nearly tripped down the last step when he saw who was standing in the doorway.

“Hey, mate,” Eamon said. 

“What are  _ you _ doing here?” Conor asked, stunned. 

“I came to walk to school with you.”

“You don’t even go to my--” A quick but sharp glare from Eamon shut him up. “Oh… okay. Sure.” 

Conor grabbed his bag from the living room. “Bye, Mum,” he said, giving his mother a half-hearted hug. 

As soon as they were outside and the front door had been closed, Eamon dragged Conor through the front yard and onto the sidewalk. 

“Eamon, what the hell are you doing?” Conor hissed, wriggling away from his grip. “And how do you know where I live?”

“Darren gave me your address,” Eamon said quickly. “And I need to talk to you.”

“And  _ I _ need to get to school,” Conor retorted, starting to walk away from him.

Eamon caught up with him and grabbed him by the shoulders. “What happened last night? Why did you just  _ leave _ ?” 

Conor closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to Eamon, but Eamon’s grip was too strong to break away from this time, so there was no way around it. “I… I just… I don’t know.” He sighed. “I’ve never… been in a relationship before.”

“Who said we were in a relationship just yet?”

“I mean, I’ve never been extremely intimate with someone. Much less someone who I’ve only known for less than a week. Last night was just… it was startling. And scary. Because it’s all new to me, and going straight in just made me a little uncomfortable.” 

Eamon nodded. “That’s fine. I get it. I won’t do it anymore. But, mate, you really scared me.”

“Sorry.”

Eamon’s eyes shifted towards the ground. “I… I do really fancy you, though,” he muttered, almost too quiet for Conor to hear. 

Conor raised his eyebrows. “R-Really?” he asked in disbelief. “You do?”

“Yeah. Ever since I laid eyes on you.”

“...Oh.”

“Hey… you wouldn’t actually want to be, like,  _ together _ … would you?”

_ Oh god.  _ “I guess I wouldn’t mind it… as long as we started slow, of course. I’m still unsure about this whole idea of being in a relationship. If that’s fine with you.”

“ ‘Course, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

There was a long, extremely awkward pause.

“So…” Conor started.

Eamon took his hands off of Conor’s shoulders, then pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket. “This has my digits on it,” he said. “Give me a call after school.”

Another slip of paper. “You really like getting me your info through little notes, don’t you?” Conor teased, taking the paper. 

Eamon gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “C’mon now,” he said through a wide grin. “You’ve got school to go to, haven’t you? Don’t wanna get detention first thing in the morning.”

 

__ 

 

Conor’s mood was bubbly and euphoric throughout most of the rest of the school day. He did the classwork that was given with no complaint, and when the maths professor sent him to the headmaster’s office for staring off into space during a lecture, he stood up and left, not even making an effort to retort. He didn’t serve detention first thing in the morning like Eamon had ridiculed him about, but instead later in the afternoon as a punishment for doodling in his notebook, when he was supposed to be participating in a class debate. Several people were noticing Conor’s sudden change in behavior, and one or two even came up to him and questioned him about it. 

“You look completely shit-faced, mate,” Darren noted, as they were putting on their coats at the end of the day. “What in the world happened to you?”

“Oh… haha… nothing,” replied Conor, trying to hide a smile under his scarf. 

“ ‘Nothing’ my ass,” Darren scoffed. “This ain’t your typical behavior, Conor. Tell me what’s up.” He flashed a mischievous smirk. “Didja meet a girl or somethin’?” 

“No,” Conor said, a little too hurriedly. 

Darren stared at him, trying to figure out if he was lying. “Right, then,” he said slowly. “Just try not to act too… queer. Or people’ll  _ really  _ start questioning ya.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Conor’s mind was solely focused on getting home and calling Eamon. The school day had slogged on long enough, and he could talk to Darren any other time. 

Conor pushed his way out of the school and ran down the street, completely disregarding the traffic that was attempting to get around him. He didn’t slow down until he was inside and hand touching the phone. He dialed Eamon’s number, little sparks going off in his chest, waiting anxiously for someone to pick up.

Eamon’s voice suddenly came through the line. “Hello?”

Hearing his voice made Conor blush profusely. “Hi,” he replied. “It’s me. Conor.”

“Oh, hey.” Short pause. “Glad you called.” 

“Yeah.”

“How was school?”

“It was alright… nothing special happened or anything. Typical day, y’know.”

“Ah, that’s cool.”

There was another pause. Conor tried to think of something to say, but his mind failed him. 

“Conor? You still there?”

“Oh… yeah, I’m still here,” Conor replied. “So, uh, how was  _ your  _ day?”

“Pretty laid back, spent most of my time trying to write a song,” Eamon said.

“Huh… so do you go to school at all?”

“Nah, my family’s having financial issues. Don’t have enough money. But me mum homeschools me sometimes.”

Conor took the phone and sat down on the couch. “Interesting. I bet homeschooling is much more fun than going to an actual school. You don’t even have to leave your house.” He chuckled.

Eamon made a retching sound. “Hah, you’d think. However having your mum for a teacher is a real stink. You get ten times as much work, it’s downright dreadful.”

“I wish I was homeschooled,” Conor said wistfully, playing with the phone cord. “School is absolute hell.”

“I take it you don’t have too many friends there,” said Eamon, trying to stay sensitive in case he triggered something negative.

“Yeah, it gets lonely fairly often…”

Conor drifted off. There really wasn’t much else to say, since he was pretty much the bottom of the food chain at his school. He wasn’t  _ hated _ , but he was just average and boring enough that nobody particularly felt the need to pay attention to him. Darren was the only person keeping him sane, and the only one who could -- even the tiniest bit -- protect him from getting pounded in the lunch line. Other than that, it was like every man for himself.

The subject of his social life overall was just nothing that Conor liked to talk about. He was quite introverted, and so it was natural that he hardly met anyone who he could call a friend, or an acquaintance at best. And screw going to a social gathering -- being in crowded spaces gave him a slight panic attack. But as if his quiet, anxious demeanor wasn’t enough, he somehow gave off a negative vibe towards most people that caused them to ignore him  _ entirely _ , especially in public. More than enough times was Conor jostled off the pavement, into the oncoming traffic in the street, by a random stranger who had not bothered to apologize. 

He was a mirage to the locals, and invisible to the world. 

“Hey, mate, I have idea,” Eamon declared, snapping Conor out of his miserable thoughts. “How would you like it if I took you to a concert? A buddy of mine is playing at The Gallery with his band tomorrow night at eight o’clock. You up for it?”

_ Shit.  _ This was exactly the type of thing Conor dreaded. Concerts were the worst. He remembered how unhappy he had been at the concert Darren had dragged him to, and his gut was urging him to say no. There was no way. Eamon was great, and a really cool person, but that wouldn’t make up for the fact that there were going to be other people in a loud, enclosed area. He could just flat-out tell the truth, say that he was too nervous to go. Or he could spare his friend’s disappointment and submit himself to a night full of drinking and masses of strangers…

“Yeah, okay. I’ll come with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's winter break, so I'll probably have more time to write this fanfiction. Hope you enjoyed this chapter :).
> 
> (PS - I'm sorry for the crappy writing, I'm still trying to figure out where I want this whole story to go..)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to figure out a more consistent updating schedule, so if I update sporadically for a little while, just know that'll be normal.
> 
> Hope you guys like this chapter :))

_Yeah, okay. I’ll come with you._

Those were not the words that he had meant to utter, but they were out and he could not take them back now.

“Oh, that’s awesome,” Eamon replied, his voice filling with delight. “I’ll meet you at your place around seven-forty, is that good?”

“Uh, of-of course, seven f-forty,” Conor stuttered. “See you then.”

He hung up the phone and sunk to the floor, burying his head in his hands. _Jesus._

 

___

 

For most of the following evening, Connor fretted over the concert. There was really nothing he could do about his nervousness, other than pace around in his room biting at his nails. He had already said yes to the invite - there was no way he could get out of it.

He stood in front of his bedroom mirror, trying to find the right jacket to wear. He looked over his two options: a faded denim jean jacket with his brother’s old pins scattered all over the front, and a black and blue sports jacket with his school’s logo ironed on the back.

 _The sports jacket is more appropriate for the weather outside,_ Conor thought, running his fingers along the soft fabric. _But it doesn’t really seem right for a concert._

_The denim jean jacket looks cool, I suppose, but my trousers are made of denim, too, so that’d make me look like a complete gimp._

Just then, the doorbell rang. Conor automatically grabbed the jean jacket without a second thought, slung it over his shoulder, and ran downstairs to get the door.

“Hey there,” Eamon said.

“Hey,” Conor greeted him.

“You ready to go?”

“Yeah… I think so.”

“Conor, where are you going?” Conor’s mother called from the living room.

“Uh… studying. At Eamon’s,” Conor lied.

“Alright. Just stay out of trouble. And be home by eleven.”

“ Okay.”

“C’mon, mate, we should go,” Eamon murmured, nudging Conor out the door.

\----

 

At first, Conor hated it. There was a much larger crowd than the previous concert, and more people were smoking, making him cough incessantly. The music was extremely loud, especially since they were standing a mere three feet away from the speakers. Conor had to plug his ears for the majority of the first few songs, until Eamon noticed his friend’s discomfort and said that they could move further back if he wanted.

So they did.

Things got slightly better after that. Standing in the back of the crowd meant that everyone was more dispersed, and Conor felt much less claustrophobic. Conor merrily bobbed up and down to music, beginning to enjoy the songs the band was playing. Eamon taught him a few simple dance moves, claiming that he’d need to learn them if he didn’t want to bounce up and down on the balls of his feet like a tool. Before he knew it, the band stopped playing in order to take a break, and Conor realised how incredibly thirsty he was.

“Need a drink, Conor?” Eamon asked, looking at him. He laughed. “How’s about I get a glass of water for you.”

“Thanks… that’d be great,” Conor replied, collapsing against the wall. He slid down to the floor, feeling extremely lightheaded. Maybe it was because he wasn’t at the concert alone, but he could hardly believe that he was actually having a good time. Just two months ago he would’ve given his life not to be in a social situation like this; now, he was silently hoping that they didn’t have to leave.

Eamon came back with a plastic cup. He handed it to Conor, who snatched it up and chugged half of the water in one go.

“Slow down,” Eamon said, taking the cup back. “You’re gonna feel a lot worse if you drink a whole ton at a time.”

Conor nodded, suddenly feeling sick. “Yeah…”

“It’s nearly eleven, we should probably get home.”

“Okay.” He proceeded to stand up, but a sudden sharp throb to the head sent him crumbling to the floor again.

Eamon caught Conor by the arm and knelt beside him. “You alright?”

Conor gazed at him. Spots appeared before his eyes, then vanished. “Um, yeah, I think.”

“ …You look really out of it, are you sure you’re fine?”

Weird, incomprehensible images flashed across Conor’s mind, followed by a searing pain that felt as if someone had sent a jackhammer through his skull. “No… not anymore…”

_I just drank some water, what is wrong with me?_

Eamon frowned and picked up the cup. He took a small sip, only to spit it right back out again, covering himself in the liquid. “Shit.”

“W-what’s the matter?”

“This isn’t water, Conor.”

At those words, Conor’s eyes widened in horror. He pointed to the cup, which had been tossed to the floor, its contents flooding everywhere. “That’s… that’s not _really --_ ”

“The goddamn bartender gave me alcohol,” Eamon hissed, setting his jaw.

“ _No.”_

“Yes.” Eamon dragged Conor to his feet. “We gotta leave, right now.”

They stumbled through the crowd, knocking into people left and right as they made for the exit. Eamon didn’t let go of Conor until they were in a hidden alleyway, far from the loud concert environment.

Conor knelt on the ground, leaning against his friend, his whole body shaking. His head was pounding harder than ever, and his throat felt like it was on fire.

“Conor, mate, you doing okay?” Eamon asked, worried.

“Not particularly,” Conor replied weakly. A wave of nausea washed over him, and it took all his willpower to keep his dinner inside his mouth.

“Do you want to walk home? Or wait here until you feel a little less plastered?”

Conor’s stomach made a low growling sound. Before either of them had a chance to move out of each other’s way, a maelstrom of stomach acid and chunks of food came spilling out of Conor’s mouth.

“I’m… I think I’m gonna need to wait.”

“That’s fine with me.”

 

___

 

It was eleven-thirty when they finally arrived at Conor’s house. Despite being exhausted and covered in vomit, both boys were feeling much better, and Conor’s frequent waves of nausea had come to a stop.

“Glad you could come to the concert with me, Conor,” Eamon said, walking him up to the door. “Did you have fun?”

Conor nodded. “Yeah. I think so.” He paused. “The last part wasn’t so fun, obviously. But everything before that was a real cracker.”

“That’s good.”

They stared at each other, neither one of them wanting to say goodbye.

“You have really pretty eyes,” Conor blurted out.

Eamon was taken by surprise. “Come again?”

“Your eyes. They’re really pretty. A greyish colour with a bit of hazel. Kind of like the sky whenever it’s overcast, but not windy or anything. Like the calm in the eye of a storm.”

“They can’t be _that_ poetic.” Eamon blushed. “This is just the alcohol making you talk, isn’t it.”

“No, I’m serious,” Conor insisted, his eyes still fixated on Eamon’s. He took a few steps closer. “I should write a song about them.”

“Hah, what would that song even be called? ‘Eamon’s Stunning Grey Eyes?’ ”

“Nah. More like ‘The Eye of the Storm.’” Conor took one more step forward, and pressed his lips to Eamon’s.

“Can’t wait to hear it,” Eamon replied, grinning ear to ear.

Conor gave Eamon one last quick goodnight kiss before heading inside. He snuck up to his room, quietly closed his door, and collapsed into bed.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Hungover.

That was the only word to describe how Conor felt the next morning. He tried to sit up, only to get knocked back down by a pain in his head that felt like he was being clobbered with a club. There was no way he was going to school in this state. Everyone would notice, and he would most likely be sent home by one of the teachers anyway. He rolled over onto his side, trying to see if his head would feel any better if he was lying down in a different position. Nothing worked.

Despite his parents’ protests,  Conor stayed home from school. His older brother kept him company throughout most of the day, introducing him to new bands that were, in his brother’s words, “the best musicians to happen since Mozart.”

“Brendan, Mozart was alive nearly two hundred years ago, there _has_ to be music that was good since then,” Conor argued.

“The point is,” his brother said, “the music they’re coming up with today is the _best_ kind of music there will ever be. _Ever..._ ”

“What about stuff by Phil Collins?”

“... With the exception of stuff by Phil Collins.”

They both laughed.

“Is your friend Eamon into music, too?” Brendan asked.

“H-how do you know who Eamon is?” Conor said, bewildered.

“Heard Mum talking to Dad about him. Seems like a nice lad. So is he?”

“Yeah, he’s nice.”

“No, I mean, is he into music?”

“Oh. Yeah, he’s into music. He has all these instruments around his house. Drums. Guitars. Flutes. The like. He can play every single one of ‘em.”

Brendan let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “Wow.” He leaned back and folded his arms. “I need to meet this kid.”

“I can see if he’s around this afternoon, you can meet him then,” Conor offered.

“That would be awesome,” Brendan replied.

Thinking of Eamon reminded Conor of the song he meant to write. “Oh, by the way, would you by any chance want to help me write a song?”

This caught Brendan’s attention. “You’re interested in writing a song?” he asked, looking as if his younger brother was joking. When he could see that Conor was being serious, he stiffened. “Since when have you been interested in making music?”

“Eamon’s been teaching me how to do it,” Conor answered.

“So just get him to help you,” Brendan said roughly.

“Well… this song is sort of a surprise song for him,” Conor explained quickly. “And a test to see how well I can write songs without _his_ assistance. But I do need someone to get me started.”

Brendan nodded slowly. “Alright, then. I’ll help you start it. But, Conor, you gotta understand that at some point you’ll have to be on your own for this kinda stuff. No great musician has ever made it big in the music industry by having their big brother help with every single song they write.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Writing a song without Eamon’s help was extremely difficult. Brendan wasn’t a songwriter himself, and it took the two of them over an hour to come up with an opening verse that rhymed properly. But Conor pushed on, and by two-thirty he had written and recorded a song. It wasn’t completely perfect, but then again it wasn’t supposed to be. It was a song for Eamon, and Eamon didn’t mind imperfect. As long as he liked it, that was all that mattered.

“I’m gonna go deliver this to Eamon,” Conor said, slipping on his shoes. He grabbed the cassette tape and shoved it into his jacket pocket.

“Good luck to you,” Brendan replied, lighting a cigarette. “Hope he enjoys it.”

 

__

 

“Here’s the tape, with the song I wrote for you.”

The boys were in Eamon’s living room, sitting on the couch, the tape player resting between them.

“Oh,” Eamon said, surprised. “I… I didn’t _actually_ think you’d write a song for me.”

“But I did, and so here it is,” Conor responded, pushing the tape into his friend’s hands.

Eamon carefully inserted the tape into the tape player. Conor could see him sucking in his breath with nervousness as he pressed Play.

 

_Staring down at the sea,_

_A slight glimmer in the water_

_You’re standing next to me,_

_Wish we could go a little further…_

 

Conor shifted nervously as the song progressed, unable to look at Eamon in fear of judgement. What if Eamon didn’t like the song? What if it was too cliche? What if he thought it was rushed? What if…

He tilted his head to see Eamon nodding his head along with the music, his eyes fixed on the tape recorder in deep concentration. By the time the chorus rolled around, Eamon looked completely entranced, which calmed Conor’s nerves.

“This is really good, Conor,” Eamon said quietly, as the second verse began.

Conor’s heart jumped. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

When the song was over, they sat in awkward silence, neither one being able to speak. Conor slowly removed the tape and turned it over in his hands continuously, waiting for Eamon’s verdict. “So?”

“So, what?” Eamon asked.

“How was it?”

“... I loved it.”

Conor breathed a sigh of relief. _Thank goodness._

“Except one thing.” _Oh no_. “The beginning chords were kinda shit.”

“Oh.”

Eamon grinned. “Conor. I’m just kidding. It sounded fine.”

Oh.

“So you really did like it.”

“Of course. It was perfect. Thank you.”

Conor set the tape recorder on the ground, then leaned in to give Eamon a hug. “I didn’t think you were going to like it,” he said. “I’m not an expert songwriter. I whipped up that song in less than seven hours.”

“But you’re still getting used to the feel of it, so it’s alright,” Eamon reassured him. He pulled away slightly, allowing their foreheads to touch. “You’re no professional, and neither am I. Don’t be afraid to make a mistake.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, Con?”

Conor smirked. “You’re giving me a nickname, now, are you?”

“Sure, why not? … Anyway, do you think you could write me another song sometime? You’re really good at it.”

“Just for you, Eams,” Conor answered.

“Ah, so now _I_  have a nickname too?” Eamon said, his eyes sparkling.

“Sure, why not?”

Eamon laughed. “You’re funny. I like that.”

For the next hour and a half, they sat on the couch, Conor’s head on Eamon’s shoulder and Eamon’s arm around Conor’s shoulders. They listened to the song over and over, stealing little kisses from one another every now and then. The afternoon sunlight splashed down on them from the far window, making it even more comfortable and less likely that they were going to move. _If this is what heaven feels like,_ _sign me up_ , Conor thought, playing with the buttons on Eamon’s jacket. _I wish it could be like this all the time._

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Eamon said suddenly, taking Conor's hand.

Conor blushed, his heart melting. “I’m glad you’re here with me, too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys like the chapter :D
> 
> PS - the story isn't over yet ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aye there, happy 2017! Sorry for a short-ish chapter, I'm really busy atm and I didn't really have time to write something incredibly long and interesting.
> 
> At least I now have a loose idea of where i want this story to go..
> 
> Enjoy the chapter <3

As soon as he walked through the front door of his home, Conor realized that something was horribly wrong. None of the lights on the first floor were on, and he smelled something burning coming from the kitchen. He looked at the ground to see his parents’ outdoor clothing strewn about the hallway, torn from their coat hooks on the wall. Upstairs, his mother and father could be heard arguing, shouting profanities at one another.

Conor sighed, and bent down to pick up the mess of coats and hats and shoes. He was hanging his mother’s trench coat back up when he noticed an opened pack of cigarettes poking out from one of the pockets. Conor delicately removed the cigarettes from the pocket and examined the box. It looked fairly new, yet half of the cigarettes had already been used up.

A sudden wave of nausea washed over him. Over the summer, his mother had promised that she would stop smoking, since she had read an anti-smoking article that said cigarettes were a prime cause of lung cancer. For the past seven or eight months, she had been cigarette-free, and seemed quite happy about it. 

But now, Conor’s discovery changed everything.

Only something truly disastrous could make his mother take up smoking again.  
Conor put the cigarette box back, and made his way up to his room, his parents’ voices growing louder and more vicious. 

“...I told you to talk someone at work about this!”

“I  _ did, _ Penny, and they aren’t doing anything about it!”

“Your stress is getting to your head, that’s why we’re in this situation…”

“Me and my stress has  _ nothing _ to do with the rest of this  _ goddamn _ family!”

“What are you talking about? We depend on you to survive in this household!”

Conor strode into his room and angrily slammed the door. He stood in the darkness of his bedroom, his mind on fire. He tried to calm down, but no amount of meditative breathing could control his anger.

“You sick of ‘em fighting, too?”

The desk lamp flicked on, and Conor found himself standing in front of his brother, who was casually spinning around in Conor’s desk chair. 

“Jesus, you scared me,” Conor exclaimed, glaring at him.

“Dad’s out of his job,” Brendan said bluntly. He stopped spinning.

Conor drew in a deep breath. This couldn’t be happening. “Wh-what?”

“I said, Dad is out of his job,” Brendan repeated, his voice much louder. “His boss let him go. Not sure why, but we don’t have any source of income at the moment.”

“...When did you find out about this?”

“While you were out earlier today.” Brendan stood up and began pacing around Conor’s room, shaking his head in disgust. “Apparently Dad knew he was going to be fired for months, he just never said anything to the rest of us about it. And now Mum’s just finding out, and she’s rightfully pissed.”

“I… I found a cigarette pack in Mum’s coat,” Conor spoke up, his voice shaking. “I thought she quit. Does that have anything to do with this?”

“She must’ve bought a pack to smoke her sorrows away. Wish someone would explain to her that that’s not how it works.”

“So what’s going to happen, then? What if Dad can’t find another job?”

Brendan threw up his hands in exasperation. “I don’t know, Conor, why are you asking me?” he exclaimed. “Maybe they’ll split up? Maybe Mum will actually find a job herself? I have no idea.”

Conor sat down hard on the bed and buried his head in his hands. A lost job meant less money, which meant possibly transferring schools, as well as having to move into a smaller, less-elegant house. Change bothered Conor more than anything, and he hated to think about what would happen in the next couple of weeks.

Suddenly, Conor’s mood shifted. The depressed, helpless feeling he had expected to feel wasn’t there; instead it was replaced with a burning desire to keep his family on their feet. Just because everyone else felt depressed and helpless didn’t mean that he had to. He just needed to figure out what he could do to make a little money, and then hopefully everything would turn out alright. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, I'm back with another (slightly short) chapter. I'm still super busy, so I haven't had time to write something nice and long :/
> 
> Enjoy this chapter though x

It had been one week since Conor found out that his father was being fired from his job. That week had been quite eerie, and with every passing day, Conor found himself growing more and more despairing. His mother could not keep her hands off of a cigarette, unless they were at a meal. Brendan and his sister Ann mostly stayed in their bedrooms, doors closed, barely making a sound. And his father was hardly at home anymore - Conor speculated that he was taking a stab and job-hunting, and getting wasted at bars for hours at a time in between.

Throughout all this, Conor was so distracted that he neglected to tell anyone what was going on.

So when Eamon knocked on Conor’s door one sunny afternoon, it took Conor completely by surprise.

“What are you doing here?” Conor hissed, stepping outside to meet him. “I’m kind of busy at the moment.”

“I haven’t heard from you in days,” Eamon responded, a genuine look of concern on his face. “Are you okay?”

Conor sighed. “Not particularly.”

“Want to talk about it?”

___

 

The boys sat on a park bench at the top of a bright green hill, their faces heated by the afternoon sun. Eamon’s bike leaned up against a nearby tree, his acoustic guitar laying beside it.

“Right, so, tell me what’s up,” Eamon prompted.

Conor bit his lip, trying to think of where to start. “Well, my father lost his job.”

Eamon’s eyes widened. “Oh… oh my god. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s really not your fault.”

“I know.”

Conor bent his head and stared at the bench seat. “It’s just that, it’s _hard_ to live in my household every day.” He drew in a deep breath. “Everything has been falling apart. I can’t concentrate on anything anymore, not even writing music. Dad’s out of the house practically day in and day out, doing God-knows-what. He’s probably drinking his ass off, who knows. And my mum, she hasn’t gone eight hours without smoking hash, at the most. It’s like we’re all frozen in some sort of shell-shock. Nothing productive is happening, we have no way to get money into the house, and… it’s a goddamn mess, is what it is.”

“So… what’re you gonna do?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Conor blurted out, a little too harshly than he had intended. “I’ve spent the last week thinking about how I can make some cash, but all of this stress has been taking a toll on me and I haven’t been able to think properly, and no one except you has been able to listen to me just rant, because Brendan and Ann never come out of their bedrooms, and on top of all _that_ \--”

“Whoa, hey, slow down,” Eamon interrupted, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m flattered to have you rant to me, but I need you to take deep breaths. I don’t want you dying in the midst of pouring out your feelings to me.” He chuckled.

“But I have no idea what to do,” Conor said. “I don’t know where to go. I feel helpless.” He felt his eyes tearing up, and immediately turned away, embarrassed to be crying in front of his friend.

“Well, what do you _like_ to do?” Eamon asked.

“I dunno… write and play music. That’s pretty much it.”

“There you go, then. That’s what you can do.”

Conor frowned, not completely understanding what his friend was talking about. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I _mean_ , that’s how you can help your family,” Eamon explained, growing excited. “Write more songs and play them on the street or something. I’ve done it before, it’s a good way to earn money.”

A sudden burst of hope flowed through Conor. Finally, there was something that he could do. “That’s a great idea, Eamon. A really great idea.”

“I can give you a hand with the songwriting and stuff,” Eamon offered coyly. “And if you’d like me to play on the street with you as a backup guitarist, I’d be more than happy to.”

Conor raised his eyebrows. “Really? I would love to have you help, but, I mean, I don’t want to inflict any of my family’s troubles onto you --”

“No, no, it’s no trouble at all,” Eamon interrupted him, his eyes glinting in the sunlight. “I’ll always be here for you.”

Conor leaned forward slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Always?”

“Always.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

In his mind, Conor had pictured busking on the street as calming and actually sort of fun, especially since Eamon was going to be there. He had imagined some sort of tranquil scene, sitting on the curb and strumming at the guitar as the sun shone down around him, earning a couple euros every few minutes or so, with Eamon and his guitar playing along at his side.

Hence, during his first time busking, Conor was taken by surprise. Hardly anybody looked at him, and if they did, they sort of rolled their eyes and walked on. He and Eamon played several original songs, and from time to time they threw some covers of famous tunes by The Cure, but nothing seemed to attract anyone’s attention. By the end of the day, they had only made about ten euros. Conor’s heart sank, thinking of how little only ten euros would do for his family. Despite Eamon’s attempt at reassuring him that it was his first time busking, and that it would all be okay, Conor wasn’t so sure. To him, it was like an intense life or death situation.

Feeling extremely discouraged, Conor refused to go busking for a solid two weeks. Instead, he stayed inside his house when he wasn’t at school, and turned his concentration to his homework. His grades went up, but in exchange, his self esteem began to go down. When he wasn’t focusing on his own personal issues, he was forced to pay attention to his crumbling family life, which wasn’t a very promising alternative. It was practically a lose-lose situation, no matter which way Conor turned, and he felt helpless once again. 

During his emotional lockdown, he had asked Eamon to leave him alone with his thoughts, and so his friend was respectful of that wish, for the most part. But one afternoon, Conor’s mother came into the room with the telephone. “It’s for you,” she said.

Conor looked up from his homework. “Who is it?” he asked, confused. “I’m not expecting any calls.”

“It’s Eamon. He seems pretty worried about you. Haven’t you been talking to him?”

“Um… no,” he replied, setting down his pencil. He reached for the phone. “Thanks for letting me know, Mum.”

As soon as his mother left the room, Conor hissed into the phone, “What the hell do you want, Eamon?”

“Mate, I haven’t heard from you in  _ such _ a long time, what do you think I want?” Eamon answered. “I want to be sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah, well, I thought I asked you to leave me alone for a little while.”

“Two weeks is much more than ‘a little while,’ Conor.” Eamon sighed. “Look, I care about you a lot. If it’s the busking thing you’re still feeling depressed about, I promise you - it’ll get better.”

“Did you even  _ see _ the people who walked past us?” Conor exclaimed, leaping off of his bed in anger. “They looked at us like we were absolute  _ shit _ . And that… that just felt horrible.”

Eamon was quiet for a few moments. “That’s understandable,” he said. “But you’re getting  _ nowhere _ by staying cooped up in your house. Do you want to help your family or not?”

“I do, but--”

“So don’t let one bad first experience stop you,” Eamon interrupted. “You’re never gonna know if you’re  _ actually  _ comfortable with something if you’ve only done it once. Besides, we weren’t even in a good neighborhood last time. If we could take the tube to the city center, we’d probably be a lot more successful over there.”

“Eamon,  _ please _ do not make me go busking again.”

“Conor, I get your apprehension,” Eamon continued calmly. “But life is all about getting up and trying again, no matter how hard it is. And I know you can do that. I have a good feeling about this next time.”

“No…”

“One last time, for ten minutes. Just ten minutes, and if you  _ still _ don’t like it, we can go home.”

Conor pondered over the offer. “...You  _ promise _ just ten minutes?”

“I promise,” Eamon said. “And if I push you to go longer than you want, you can walk out on me and you don’t have to talk to me ever again. Okay?

  
Do you trust me?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the new chapter :))


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI YES I KNOW IT'S BEEN LIKE 2 MONTHS I'M SORRY I'VE DEPRIVED YOU SO HERE YOU GO I HOPE YOU ENJOY :))

_ Do you trust me _ ?

Those words hit Conor hard. Of course he trusted Eamon. He trusted Eamon more than anyone in his entire life, including Brendan. Never before had he felt so close and so safe with someone before, and the boy with the brown mullet and round glasses was the only one who could provide him the emotional support he needed. But all of this anxiety building up was too much, and more than anything he wanted to crawl into a dark hole and never come out. 

But that wasn’t an option. If Eamon was really so important to him, he couldn’t just run away. He had to prove it.

“Yes,” Conor finally replied. “I trust you.”

____

 

Two days later, Conor found himself on the curb outside of Fusco’s Cafe, strumming at a guitar, Rabbit Boy sitting next to him and singing softly. They were in a different neighborhood this time, and although Conor was still uneasy about the whole busking idea, their success rate was going up significantly, as they found themselves earning almost twice as much money as their previous total within the first half-hour. When the boys ran out of original songs to play, they got creative and improvised mashups, which were made up of various songs by The Cure, Duran Duran, The Smiths, and many others. As the day wore on, more and more people gathered around for longer periods of time to cheer them on, and with every Euro that dropped into Eamon’s guitar case, Conor felt a little bit more hope blooming inside of him. Five minutes quickly turned to five hours, and the sun began to set, signaling for them to be done for the day.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Eamon asked, as they took their time walking home.

“Not really. Not as bad as last time, anyway.” Conor shrugged.

“Yeah…you gotta get used to it, I suppose,” Eamon said, grinning. “I still get nervous singing in front of crowds. Sometimes even just in front of me mam. Guess we can’t all be perfect.”

Conor stopped walking. “I think you’re pretty perfect,” he said, staring at his friend intently.

Eamon blushed, but didn’t thank him. “Hardly,” he scoffed. “I’ve done so many things that make me far from perfect.”

“Ah, like what?”

Eamon thought for a few seconds. “Well,” he said slowly, starting to walk again, “ it certainly doesn’t have to do with the fact that I once threw a book at a teacher in primary school because I was protesting unfair punishments in maths.” 

His sarcasm made Conor laugh. “You actually did that? Didn’t you just get into more trouble?”

“ ‘Course I did,” Eamon replied proudly. “And two years later I did it again. I’m not ashamed of it, though.” It was nearly dark, but Conor could still see a small glint in his eye. “I stand up for what I believe in. I know what I see and if I don’t think it’s right, I’m ain’t afraid to say something.”

“I didn’t know that,” Conor said. “I thought you were just some introverted music prodigy who spent his time hiding in his bedroom with his rabbits, writing music.” He gave Eamon a playful nudge. When he noticed his friend wasn’t smiling, he added, “I’m only kidding.”

“Yeah, I know,” Eamon reassured him. “It’s cool. Lots of people get that first impression of me.”

By now they were in front of Conor’s house. Conor reached out and held Eamon’s hand in his own, their eyes locked, neither one wanting to be the first to say goodbye.

“Thank you so much for all your help today,” Conor said. “It means a lot.”

“Conor,” Eamon said. Conor’s heart melted when he said his name. “I think we’re past the continuous words-of-gratitude stage. Just know that I’ll be here for you. Always.”

Conor reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the stack of money they had earned that day. He picked out a twenty and handed it to his best friend. “Consider this a gift.”

Eamon pushed it back. “No. I can’t take this. You earned it for yourself. For your family.”

“You earned it too,” Conor insisted. “It’s selfish of me to take all of it when you’ve been doing just as much as me. At least take a little. Help out your mum or something.”

“I really don’t think -”

“I need you to take it -”

“But I’ll be okay without -”

Conor leaned in and planted a passionate kiss on Eamon’s lips, cutting him off. “Please. Just take it.” He carefully pressed the twenty euro note into Eamon’s hands. 

Eamon sighed, giving in. He pocketed the money. “You really don’t give up, do you?” he said, smirking.

“Not with you, I don’t,” Conor answered. “Guess that’s how much I care about you, innit?”

Eamon laughed, his eyes sparkling under the dim porch lights. “Goodnight, Conor.”

“Goodnight, Eamon.”

 

__

 

Conor quietly entered the house, took off his coat and shoes, and started for the staircase. Suddenly, the light in the living room flicked on, and there stood his mother and father, arms crossed, with disapproving looks on their faces.

“Conor… who was that boy?” his mother asked incredulously. 

“J-Just my friend Eamon,” Conor stammered, trying to keep his face expressionless. “You’ve met him before.”

“And what were you doing with Eamon?” his father demanded, furrowing his brow.

“We went busking, I thought you knew that.”

“I meant just now, on the front porch.”

Conor’s face went red. Had his parents been spying on him? “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied. “Nothing happened.”

“And I’m the Queen of England.” Sarcasm dripped from his father’s words as he motioned for Conor to sit down on the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. We have a lot to talk about, young man.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with another chapter :)
> 
> Disclaimer: this chapter has one instance of a homophobic slur.

Conor sat on the couch, opposite his parents, who were towering over him threateningly. “W-why are you doing this?” he asked, his lower lip quivering.

Instead of answering his question, his father bent over and stared at him in such a disgusted way that, for just a moment, Conor felt ashamed to even be his son. “You’re gay, aren’t you?” His father said the word  _ gay _ as if it was a drop of sour milk that had been sitting in his mouth for too long. 

There was no point in denying it at this point. “Okay… so what if I am?” Conor said. “What do you care?”

“I will not tolerate a  _ faggot _ in my household.”

Conor felt as if he had been slapped in the face. He’d been called the  _ f- _ slur by many people at school, and while he didn’t pay much mind to those people, it was a different feeling altogether when his father used it. It was a sickening word nevertheless, and never before in Conor’s life had he expected one of his closer family members to use it, much less to describe him.

“How long have you been seeing Eamon?” his mother asked in a low voice.

“Um… almost a month,” Conor replied uncomfortably. His stomach began to feel incredibly sick.

His parents glanced at each other, gave each other slight nods, and turned back to him. “No more seeing Eamon,” his mother declared with finality. “No more going over to his house, or having him over, or meeting up in the park after school.”

“I can’t even call him over the phone?” Conor asked cautiously.

“No. No more contact with him whatsoever.”

Conor’s sick feeling was replaced with rage. “But why?” he demanded. “Why does it matter to you who I like and who I choose to be with? Eamon is the nicest person I have ever met, and I can’t imagine what I would do if I couldn’t see him. He’s done so much for me, and sometimes I prefer his company much more over any of yours.” By now he had stood up off the couch, shouting. “From day one you’ve always taught me to fight against the tide, to do what I want and to not pay attention to other people’s criticism. To be myself, and pride myself in my accomplishments. And I listened to you! I developed my own ideas and morals and I’ve gotten to a point in my life where I’ve sort of figured out who I really am. But now you’re telling me to be someone I’m not. You want me to conform to whatever  _ you _ want for me, which essentially goes against everything you taught me in the first place!” Tears began to form in Conor’s eyes. “You adults want us kids to formulate our own ideas and opinions, until those ideas and opinions are different from yours. And you know it.”

The room went dead silent. His father shook with rage, and leaned in to make an argument, when suddenly the telephone rang. Conor’s mother ran into the kitchen to get it, and called into the living room a few seconds later. “Robert, it’s the real estate agency. They want to talk to you.”

His father sent one last menacing glare at him. “Better watch your back from now on,” he warned. “Just know that we’re not done here. Not yet.” Then he headed out of the room.

Conor stood in the middle of the room for several minutes, in complete shock, his body shaking uncontrollably. He glanced into the kitchen and saw his parents busy with the phone, so he dashed upstairs to his bedroom, slammed the door, and let his tears cover the bedspread.

 

_____

 

_ Toothbrush, wristwatch, extra underwear and shirt and pants, notebook, tape recorder…  _

Conor stood over his bookbag, crammed with a bunch of his belongings, and mulled over if he needed anything else.  _ I think that’s it. _ He threw on the denim jacket with his brother’s pins, followed by the bookbag. He slipped on his shoes and began prying open his bedroom window. 

“Where you going, little brother?” Brendan suddenly appeared behind him, leaning against the doorframe, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“I need to get out of here,” Conor explained. “Dunno if you heard the conversation I had with Mum and Dad a few hours ago, but it’s not safe for me here anymore.”

“Oh yeah, I heard pretty much everything,” Brendan admitted. “I’ve had my suspicions for a few years now.”

“Really? You did?”

“ ‘Course. Your sister did too. But, honestly, I really don’t care. If you like guys, you like guys. It’s cool.”

“Okay, good,” Conor said.

“I still need to know where you’re going though,” Brendan said. When he noticed Conor’s eyes widen in horror, he added, “I won’t tell Mum and Dad. This is just in case of an emergency.”

Conor hesitated. He never actually thought about where he was going to stay - all he knew was that he couldn’t stay at home. “I… I never really thought about it,” he replied honestly.

Brendan chuckled. “Some runaway you are,” he joked. “Well, when you find a spot, just call me from the nearest phone and let me know where you’re at. Alright?”

“Yeah,” Conor answered, draping his legs over the windowsill. Once he was safely on the roof, he looked up at his brother, who was still standing at the entrance of the bedroom. “Not one word to the parents, okay?” he said.

“Not one word. I promise.”

Conor slid down the roof and landed in the front lawn with a  _ thump _ . From above, he could hear Brendan shutting his bedroom window, making him feel like he had truly been kicked out of the house. For a split second, his brain told him to just stay, to keep the situation on the down-low. But then he remembered his father’s words, and the determination kicked back in.

Conor marched through the yard, past the garage, through the gates, and straight onto the pavement. He did not dare to look back.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK WITH ANOTHER CHAPTER ENJOY <3

Conor strode through the streets, head down, his mind scrambling to comprehend what had just happened. His rage had taken over him so much that he didn't even feel the least bit regretful for the decision he made. 

_ You dumbass, you never should have left. Your parents will find out eventually, and Brendan will probably snap at some point or another and rat you out. You've got no hope. _

_There's no way you can stay in that household when your father is threatening to hurt you,_ _just leave and never go back. They don't need you. They don't care. Keep walking and forget about them._

_ It's the middle of the night, you gotta stay the night someplace - you'll get mugged on the streets. _

_ Sleeping on the street is nothing compared to sleeping in the same house as your homophobic parents. KEEP GOING AND DON'T STOP GODDAMN IT _

_ YOU'RE NOT HELPING THE SITUATION BY RUNNING AWAY FROM YOUR PROBLEMS _

_ IT'S ONLY GOING TO GET WORSE IF YOU STAY IN A DANGER ZONE -- _

Conor's train of thought was cut off when he looked up from the pavement and noticed that he was standing in front of Darren's house. There was no other place he could stay the night -- if his parents went searching for him and found him at Eamon's, they would literally kill him on the spot.

Conor walked up to Darren’s front door and drew in a deep breath as he rang the doorbell. He could hear feet stomping in the front hall, and the door swung open, revealing two young children, one boy and one girl, with bright red curls. 

“Hi-hi!” the girl exclaimed. “Who are you?”

“I’m a friend of Darren’s,” Conor said. “Is he home right now?”

“Yeah, I’ll get him,” the boy replied. He turned over his shoulder and screamed, “ _ DARREN! THERE’S SOMEONE AT THE DOOR FOR YA!” _

A few seconds later, Darren appeared behind the kids, gnawing at a lollipop. “Hey, Conor,” he greeted him. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

“I...Can I just come in?” 

 

___

 

They sat in Darren’s living room in an uncomfortable silence, sipping coffee. Conor wasn’t sure where to start, since a lot was happening at once and he wasn’t keeping track of what problem was leading to another nowadays.

“So…” Darren said, “are you here to tell me something, or just to have a drink?”

Conor put down his mug and buried his head in his hands. “I really don’t know what’s going on with my life right now, Darren,” he muttered. “But I came here to run away.”

This caught his friend’s attention. “Run away?” Darren asked, alarmed. “Where are you runnin’ to? And why?”

“I thought I’d run away to your house,” Conor explained, “and I’m running away because my household is a wreck.” He sighed, trying not to cry. “My parents have been horrible and, and...I just feel like I have no emotional stability anymore.”

“What’re you parents doing to you?”

Conor hesitated. “If I tell you this next thing, you gotta promise not to say anything about it to  _ anyone _ else.”

Darren nodded. “Got it.”

Conor looked down at his hands. “I’m gay--”

“Aah.”

“--for Eamon.”

Silence. Then, “Oh.”

“You’re not, like... _ mad _ , are you?” Conor asked nervously.

“No, I actually don’t mind it at all,” Darren reassured him. “Although I’m assuming that’s the reason why your parents are being jerks?”

“Pretty much.” It hurt Conor to think about it, but if he was going to get any help, Darren needed to hear the rest of the story. “My parents think that liking someone of the same sex is basically an automatic ticket to hell, and my dad threatened to hurt me. They both said that I couldn’t see Eamon ever again, and I got called a horrible name that I’m not going to repeat.

“I came here to ask if you could maybe let me crash at your place for a few days, or at least until I feel better enough to go back home. I was going to go to Eamon’s, but if my parents find me with him, it’s not gonna go down well for any of us.”

Darren wrapped Conor into a short but sweet hug. “ ‘Course you can stay here,” he said, acting much more understanding than Conor had expected. “My cousins are staying over, too, so the only bed space we have at the moment is the couch. I hope you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine.”

“Have y’had dinner yet?” Darren asked, standing up and clearing their now-empty coffee mugs. “I can scrape together some leftovers, if ya want.”

Conor’s stomach rumbled, but he was too upset to eat anything. “I’m good for now, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Darren left the room and came back a few moments later with a pillow and an armful of blankets. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, dropping them into Conor’s lap. “If y’do end up getting hungry, feel free to raid the fridge, me mam and da’ won’t mind.”

“Okay. I think I’m just going to try and sleep for now, though,” Conor said, laying on the couch and draping the blankets over him. He propped the pillow under his head and closed his eyes.

“Well...g’night then,” Darren said, switching off the lights. He began to leave the room when Conor called after him: “Hey, Darren?” 

“Yeah?”

“I’m just curious… if your parents ask you what I’m doing here, what’re you going to say?”

Darren thought for a few moments. “I’ll tell ‘em that I invited you over for the night. No biggie.”

“Alright...alright, cool.”

“Hey, Conor?”

“Yeah?”

“Hang in there, my friend.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on spring break so I hope to update more regularly this next week and a half. Enjoy the chapter :D

Conor awoke to the sound of a tea kettle going off. He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes, and was greeted by the morning sunlight splashing down on him. The smell of tea and coffee and biscuits wafted under his nose, and his stomach grumbled as he realized he hadn't eaten anything in nearly twelve hours. He threw the blankets off of his legs and groggily made his way to the kitchen, where he found Darren and his parents standing over a large plate of breakfast baked goods. 

"Oh, hey, Conor," Darren said. "You hungry?"

"Definitely," Conor replied, his stomach growling again.

They sat down at the dining room table, two biscuits apiece accompanied by a drink of choice.

"How did you sleep, Conor?" Darren's mother asked, sipping her tea.

"Pretty good," Conor replied, spreading some jam on one of his biscuits. "Thank you for letting me stay even though you have other people over."

Darren's mother smiled. "Not a problem at all," she said. "You're always welcome here no matter what." 

 _If only my parents had the same mindset,_  Conor thought. 

"What're you two planning to do after breakfast?" Darren's father asked, stirring a boatload of creamer into his coffee.

Conor and Darren exchanged nervous glances. Neither one of them had even thought about what the morning after was going to be like. There was no way Conor was ready to go back home, but he definitely could not force himself into the care of Darren's family forever. Finally, Darren shrugged and offered the first thing that came to his mind: "M-maybe...take a walk?" 

"Oh, that's a wonderful idea," Darren's mother exclaimed. "That's a perfect way to take advantage of the beautiful day outside."

Darren leaned over to Conor  and whispered, "That's her way of saying I need to exercise more." He shook his head in disgust.

Conor chuckled and took a huge bite out of his biscuit. It was rich and hearty and also somewhat fluffy, and he had never been so eager to eat something in his whole life. 

Just as breakfast was wrapping up and they were clearing their plates from the table, there was a knock on the door. 

"I'll get it," Darren said, heading for the foyer. Conor followed closely behind, unsure of what else to do.

Darren opened the door and, to both of their surprise, there stood Eamon, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. At first, he only noticed Darren, but then his eyes drifted to Conor, and he gasped in astonishment. "Conor...?

Conor just stood in the hallway, completely in shock. His body stiffened and as much as he was delighted to see Eamon, he couldn't bring himself to go over and hug him.

"Uh, hey Eamon," Darren said, stepping aside to let his friend inside. "What's up?"

"I came to ask if you guys had any butter we could borrow," Eamon said, still staring at Conor.

Darren quickly noted the uncomfortable atmosphere in the room, and promptly made his way to the kitchen to search the fridge.

As soon as Darren was out of earshot, Eamon practically jumped into Conor's arms. "What're you doing here?" he asked. "You look like you've woken up in a dumpster." He studied Conor's wrinkled clothes and bedraggled hair and fatigued eyes.

"It's... it's a long story," Conor said wearily. "But...all you need to know is that my parents finally found out."

Eamon frowned. "About what?"

"About us."

Pause. Then, "Oh."

"Yeah, and they didn't take it too well...my dad threatened me, he basically called me a disgrace to the family. I didn't feel safe at home so I ran off."

"But...why did you come  _here_?" Eamon asked. "Not that Darren's house is a bad place, but..."

"My parents don't want me seeing you anymore," Conor replied, feeling a giant weight drop in his heart as he spoke. "They're probably searching for me right now, and I couldn't risk you getting hurt if they found me at your house."

Darren came back with a stick of butter and handed it to Eamon. "You two good, or...?"

"Y-yeah," Conor said, blushing. He looked down at his shoes, embarrassed that Darren had witnessed his and Eamon's private moment. 

"Well, if it makes you feel even the slightest bit better," Eamon continued, acting as if Darren hadn't interrupted them, "my dad came home last night from a severe few hours of heavy drinking, and as soon as he walked through the front door he hit me." He lifted up his hair to expose a dark purple bruise blooming in the middle of his forehead.

"Eamon, you and your mam have gotta get out of that house at some point," Darren said. "I'm worried about ya."

"Has your dad gone to rehab at all?" Conor asked, slightly relieved that the attention was off of himself. 

"Not yet, I think he will soon though," Eamon said, sighing. "He's never been this bad. But now he's starting to come home more smashed than ever, and this is the first time he's ever physically abused me, so."

The boys stood awkwardly in the front hall, unsure of what to do next.

"Right, well, I'm gonna head out," Eamon said finally. "Thanks for the butter, Darren." He turned to Conor: "Call me as soon as you can, okay?"

Conor nodded. "Of course." He paused. "Hey Eamon? Be careful, yeah?"

Eamon flashed him a smile. "Just for you," he replied, before disappearing into the sunlight.

Darren and Conor eventually did go on a walk, but they didn't find much to talk about. The only noise they made was the sound of their shoes crunching dead leaves, and the occasional, "Do you want to go down this street?" or "Let's turn around here."

They were making their way through the park when an idea popped into Conor's head. "Hey, Darren?"

Darren looked up from his own thoughts. "Yeah, what's up?"

"Do you think Eamon and I should run away?" Conor asked bluntly, trying not to sugarcoat anything. 

"As your closest friend, I feel like I should say no," Darren said slowly, "but I dunno...why do you ask?"

Conor drew in a deep breath. "Well I've been thinking about running away - permanently - because my family life has gone to shit and I have no purpose there now that my parents know that I'm gay and it's not like Brendan and Ann would miss me terribly, we've never been extremely close or anything."

Darren nodded. "Okay, go on."

"But the one thing keeping me from just leaving is Eamon," Conor said. "I care about him more than anyone and it'd be extremely selfish of me to just run off without telling him, and if I did tell him, he'd probably be devastated for the rest of his life. But now that his dad is getting worse and stuff, I was just thinking maybe he could run away with me."

"Hmm, that's not actually a bad idea."

Conor stopped and faced his friend. "Really? I thought you'd be pissed or something."

"Naah," Darren drawled. "You and Eamon got your problems that aren't your fault, and if you feel like you need t' run away to feel safe, then I'm all for it, I guess."

Conor immediately felt a little better knowing that Darren was on his side. For the rest of the walk, Conor formulated a plan in his mind that he would try and execute within the next week or so. The sooner he left the city, the sooner he would be out of danger.

He just had to pass his idea through Eamon, and then they would be free.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter ayyy enjoy

For days, Conor thought about what he was going to say to Eamon. It was such a huge favor to ask someone, running away, that several times he wondered if it was even worth bringing Eamon along. And if Conor  _did_ decide to ask him, how would he do it? Would he break the news slowly, or all at once? These thoughts tortured Conor's mind day and night, and no matter what he was doing, he couldn't distract himself.

Even more troubling was trying to figure out where they would even go. They definitely couldn't stay on the island, their parents would be able to track them down too easily. Perhaps travelling to England would be best... after all, Conor's family owned a boat at Dalkey Rowing Club, and it was in good enough condition to carry them a few hundred miles across the water. After many hours of contemplation, Conor confirmed that taking the boat was the best option they had, and then decided to break his idea to Eamon. 

They met in a hidden alleyway after Conor was out of school, as to avoid being found by anyone else. Conor rattled off everything he'd been wanting to tell his friend, from the start of their runaway to where they would end up, which he suggested be a "small B&B in London, or something."

"Conor, you know that running away is extremely dangerous, right?" Eamon asked carefully. 

"Yeah, well, having to live in my own house at the moment is extremely dangerous, too," Conor pointed out. 

Eamon sighed and leaned his back against the wall. "Have you even heard all those stories about the kids who run away from home and end up being kidnapped or raped or worse?" he said, trying to stay calm. "Something bad like that could happen to you out there. It's just not a good idea."

"You mean something bad would happen to  _us_ ," Conor corrected him. "We'd be travelling together, so we'll be fine." 

"Say that again when you wind up in a hospital after some thug has beaten you up on the street," Eamon scoffed. "And there's no  _we_ in this situation. I can't come with you."

"And why not?" Conor narrowed his eyes, annoyed that the conversation was not playing out the way he had expected. 

Eamon sighed. "Well, it's true that my dad's a wreck, but my mum's not. I can't leave her alone while Dad is off the rails. She needs me more than ever right now."

In the very back of his head, Conor knew that his friend had a point, but he couldn't bring himself to his senses. His brain was functioning on autopilot, and at the moment it was itching for a fight. "Your mum can take care of herself, she's an adult," Conor argued. "If you stay, you'll  _both_ risk being hurt."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Eamon answered, glaring his friend square in the eye. "She's literally my  _mother_ , Conor, I care about her a lot."

"So you can care about her, but not me," Conor shot back, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“That’s not what I said,” Eamon retorted. “You both mean the world to me. Which is why I can’t let  _ you _ ” - he stabbed a finger into Conor’s chest - “run away and throw yourself in anonymous danger like this.”

Conor slapped Eamon’s hand away. “What has gotten into you? I thought you were my friend!”

“I  _ am _ !” Eamon shouted. “And friends protect each other, which is  _ why  _ you shouldn’t run away! You have no idea what could harm you out there!”

“Ah, so you’re apparently my friend as well as my conscience--”

“Conor, you’re too young to get a place to stay anyway and there’s so much you don’t know about living on your own in the city --”

“-- Or maybe you’re just my conscience!”

The boys stood there in the alleyway, sending daggers at one another. Conor was about to just give up and walk away when Eamon suddenly sprang forward and shoved him against the wall, holding him by the shirt collar. 

“I need you to think long and diligently about what you’re planning to do,” Eamon hissed, “because the  _ last _ thing I need is for you to get yourself killed, and I couldn’t possibly be able to live with the fact that I actually had a chance to save you.”

Those words should have touched Conor. They should have made him want to surrender and give up the fight altogether - but instead they made him even more furious. 

_ “ _ You… selfish… _ asshole _ ,” Conor snarled, before raising one of his fists and bringing it down hard on the spot above Eamon’s left eye. 

On impact, Eamon cried out in pain and backed away, allowing Conor to leap away out of his reach. “ _ You said you'd always be there for me! _ ” Conor screamed, trying to suppress tears. Several people on the street turned to look at him, but he didn’t care. “ _ I thought you loved me!” _

“I do, Conor,” Eamon said weakly, all of his previous energy drained. He delicately touched the spot where his friend had hit him and winced. “I love you more than anything.”

“Then fucking show it.” Conor backed away slowly, making his way onto the sidewalk. Before turning his back, he added, “I’m going to leave town, and that’s final. I don’t know when I’ll be back, and if you try and stop me again, so help me  _ God _ , you’re going to regret it.”

Then he turned on his heel and stormed down the street, fuming, going in no particular direction. All he knew now was that Eamon had betrayed him, and it would be a very long time before Conor was willing to see him again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a new chapter, enjoy :D

Conor avoided his parents for three whole days. He ate his meals alone, and didn’t enter any room that they were occupying. Every now and then Brendan would check up on him, and bring him snacks from the pantry, but other than that Conor made sure he was isolated from everyone else in the house at all times.

On the evening of the third day, Conor finally reached his breaking point. He had to get out of the house - it was now or never.

Conor grabbed a black duffel bag from the hall closet and began filling it with clothing and bathroom necessities, including the wad of money he had earned from going busking that he had failed to give to his parents. After some consideration, he grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen and shoved it into the duffel as well. He threw on his jacket, slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, and dashed out of his room. His parents were fast asleep, and Brendan and Ann were both out doing whatever, so Conor wasn’t worried about getting caught. He put on his shoes and slipped out into the night.

 

_____

 

Light rain began to fall as Conor headed aimlessly down his block. He walked slowly, not lifting his eyes from the pavement, unconcerned about where he was going. A stoic expression rested on his face, and he dismissed all feelings of regret or remorse that tried to slip into his heart. He needed to get himself as far away from home as possible, and the only way to do that was to forget everything. He just needed to forget.

As the weather progressively got worse, Conor found himself in the East side, which was the sketchier part of town. Many of the buildings were abandoned or shut down, there was trash literally everywhere, and crime rates were higher than anyplace else. The storm clouds in the sky didn’t help the neighborhood’s eerie vibe, and Conor couldn’t help it but jump slightly when an occasional clap of thunder sounded overhead. This area was the edge of the city limits, and just past it was the start of the countryside. Exhausted, Conor sat on the sidewalk, debating whether or not to keep walking or find a place to stay for the night. He was soaked with rain from head to foot, and as much as he wanted to continue his journey, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay awake long enough to get to the next county if he didn’t rest. He wasn’t familiar with this side of town, but with a bit of searching maybe he could find someone who was generous enough to let him --

_ BANG _ !

Conor lifted his head sharply, startled out of his thoughts. At first he didn’t pay much mind to the noise, since it was probably just a trash can falling down in the wind. But then it went off again, and again, and  _ again _ , and Conor realized that the only other thing that could make that harsh of a sound in a run-down urban neighborhood - or any neighborhood - was gunshots. 

Suddenly, Eamon’s words came rushing back to him:  _ Have you even heard all those stories about the kids who run away from home and end up being kidnapped or raped or worse?  _ _ Something bad could happen to you out there…  _ _ And I  _ _ couldn’t possibly be able to live with the fact that I actually had a chance to save you. _

A mixture of fear and remorse drove straight into him, and without hesitation, he scooped up his duffel bag and dashed through the empty road in the opposite direction. The rain splattered down on his face, blending in with the tears that were now streaming down his cheeks. Any numbness that was leftover from when he first left home was completely gone, and was replaced with alarm and terror and a longing for someone to rescue him. 

Conor collapsed in the middle of the street and buried his head in his hands, allowing himself to bring down his emotional shield completely. All of the initial adrenaline had been completely washed away, and he felt more vulnerable and lonely than he had ever been in his life. His anguish dominated him so much that he didn’t notice the oncoming car headlights rapidly approaching him, or the dark-haired boy who clambered out of the vehicle after it had slowed to a full stop, or how the boy was wearing wire-rimmed aviator glasses and a denim jacket that was all too familiar.

Only after the boy knelt on the ground next to him did Conor realize who it was.

“You’re okay, Conor,” Eamon said softly, clutching his friend’s huddled figure. “Stay calm, it’s okay… you’re going to be alright.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi yes i'm back, i realize that this chapter is considerably short (like a bunch of them have been recently), but it's the end of the school year and i've been busy with work and such. Anyway, here's Chapter 15 (after like 24 days)! Enjoy :D

Conor knelt on the ground, his eyes blurred with tears. Eamon continued to hug him tightly, gently stroking his hair and muttering reassurances into his ear. As soon as Conor’s sobs began to cease, Eamon carefully leaned back to look at him, his hands still resting on Conor’s shoulders. 

“Take some deep breaths, deep breaths,” Eamon said. “Look at me, just breathe…” 

Conor slowly glanced into Eamon’s eyes, his chest heaving. His heart was still pounding harder than ever, but the soft glow of the car headlights illuminating his best friend’s face made him slightly less afraid. “How… how did you find me?” he asked. 

Eamon sighed and stared at the concrete. “Me mam and I got into a fight… it was over something so miniscule and unimportant that I don’t even remember all the details. But it got pretty bad and she was throwing stuff at me, and I got so fed up that I stole the car keys to take a drive around the city to try and clear my mind. Not sure exactly why I decided to come down to the East side, but I’m so glad I did.” He looked back up at Conor, and for the first time since they met, he began to cry. 

“Eamon…” Conor murmured, but his friend cut him off.

“Shit, I’m probably one of the last people you want to see right now,” Eamon said, wiping away tears, “but I couldn’t leave you out here in the dark, in the rain, alone.” He drew in a deep, shaky breath. “I’m so sorry that I was so aggressive towards you the other day - it wasn’t right of me to spring up on you like that. I was trying to protect you, but I guess I should’ve just let you go, since you desired to leave so badly. You don’t even have to come back home with me tonight if you really don’t want to. I’m selfish, and I’m a prick, and you don’t deserve someone like me in your life.”

This time it was Conor’s turn to console his friend. “Of course I do,” he said gently, wrapping Eamon into a hug. “Don’t feel like you’re not good enough for me, Eamon, you’re absolutely perfect. Nobody else would spend hours on end writing songs with me, or take long walks through the park, or force me to busk on the street to make extra cash for my family. And not even just those things... you’re so much more than that. 

“You’ve shown me the ropes of making music. You’ve helped me become more confident in myself and my abilities. You listen to me and you understand me better than anyone, even Darren. You’re so loyal that you’ll fight me and stop the car in the middle of the road if it means helping to keep me out of harm. You accept and appreciate me for who I am and I’ve felt more comfortable around you than I have with anyone else in my entire life.”

He carefully backed away and stared straight into Eamon’s eyes, those beautiful grayish blue eyes that he could lose himself in forever. 

“You’re different, you’re compassionate, you’re absolutely extraordinary, and... God, this is gonna sound really cheesy... but that is why I love you.” 

As soon as he said those last three words, Conor felt Eamon’s lips press against his. This surprised Conor, but he didn’t pull away, and instead he sighed into it and kissed Eamon back. 

Passion filled their veins as Eamon leaned in further, pinning Conor to the front of the car, while Conor’s fingers tugged at his friend’s dark brown mullet. Eamon’s mouth found its way to the base of Conor’s neck, sending shivers of pleasure down Conor’s spine. Feeling Eamon’s body pressed against his was the only sensation he knew, as their tongues intertwined and the rough fabric of Eamon’s jacket scraped against his cheek. This was the first time they had ever gone this far, and with every kiss Conor found himself begging for more.

With a lick of his lips, Conor led Eamon into the roomy back seat of the car, carelessly tossing his duffel bag into the front seat before shutting the door. He leaned back onto the dark leather, and Eamon collapsed on top of him seconds later. 

 

_____

 

All Conor could feel was skin. Skin on his bare shoulders and chest and neck and cupping his face and grazing his lips. He whimpered as Eamon’s fingers delicately traced his figure, from his arms to his waist and stopping just short of his boxers, which were still covering the only unexposed part of his body. Their bodies shifted and pressed together, not a millimeter of space between them. Conor lost all sense of time and place, forgot about everything and everyone and the reason he had escaped from home altogether. All he knew was that he was alone with Eamon and nothing felt more right, their bodies entangled and their hands exploring every inch of each other that was available. They filled the car with soft moans and short, breathless sighs, and Conor couldn’t possibly get enough.

Tonight had to last him forever. 

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this is the final chapter of More Than That. It's been a long and wild ride, and I enjoyed writing every single word of it. Thank you for all the kudos and all the sweet comments, I really appreciate it loads :) If you would like to read more of my work, you can subscribe to my account (I think that's how it works) to get more Conor and Eamon stories. 
> 
> If you have any questions about the series, drop a comment below. You can also find me on Twitter @P3culiarPearl or on Instagram @peculiarenderpearl.
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for your support, it means the world to me. :')
> 
> And now without further adieu, here is chapter 16 <3

The tires of the car screeched on the pavement as Conor and Eamon pulled up in front of Conor’s house the next morning. They had spent all night in the vehicle, sleeping and cuddling and snacking, and had decided to hold off on facing the music until dawn. But now here they were, a mere twenty feet from the Lawlors’ front door, and Conor had never been this anxious to see his own house in his life.

Eamon unbuckled his seatbelt and sighed. “So… you ready to go inside?”

“Not particularly,” Conor replied, absentmindedly picking at a hangnail on his finger. “I mean, what am I supposed to tell them once I see them? That I ran off and you were my unlikely hero who saved me from impending doom, and that we practically fucked in the backseat of your car?”

Eamon laughed and gave Conor a playful nudge. “Well, you don’t have to say _that_ exactly,” he said. “Just tell them that I dragged you out of the house because I needed extra help at home caring for my mam. We didn’t kiss, didn’t hug, nothing. And everything that _really_ happened can be between just us.”

Conor nodded, gathering up his courage. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

They were climbing out of the car when suddenly Conor’s mother came outside to retrieve the morning newspaper. She was dressed in an old nightgown and her demeanor was fatigued, her eyes sleepless and hollow. But when she noticed the boys standing in the driveway, her mood shifted rapidly and she dropped the paper and shouted into the house, “Brendan! Robert! Ann! _Conor’s home!_ ”

Never before had Conor received such enthusiasm from his family. More surprising was the fact that their immediate reaction was not to yell at him, not to chastise him - there were only hugs and tears and, in Brendan’s case, a lot of muttering about how Conor “scared the shit out of the entire family, especially me.” Eamon stood on the sidelines, watching the Lawlor family rejoice over the return of their youngest son.

Conor squirmed as his mother planted kisses on his forehead over and over. “Mum, no, that’s enough --”

“ _You_ run away, _you_ have to deal with my smooches,” his mother replied, managing to place another one on his cheek.

“We were _so_ bloody worried about you,” Ann said. “Where did you even go?”

Conor glanced at Eamon, who nodded ever so slightly. _You got this_.

“I…Eamon needed a hand at his house last night,” Conor lied, finally managing to wiggle out of his mother’s grasp. “I’m sorry I didn’t leave a note or anything. You’re probably extremely mad at me, and I’ll take any punishment you deal out, just let me keep seeing Eamon, I don't know who I'd be without him.”

Conor’s father glanced at the rabbit boy who was still leaning against the car, patiently waiting for some sort of cue that he was supposed to leave. “No, you don’t have to worry about never seeing him again,” he muttered. “Your mother and I… we had a long conversation. Right before you ran off. We thought over what you’d said to us that night, and we realized you were right. It was inappropriate of us to be so harsh, and for me to call you that… that _name_.”

Conor glanced over at Eamon, whose eyebrows were raised in surprise. Both of them had not expected such a positive reaction upon their arrival, much less an apology session from Conor’s parents.

“We were in denial, Conor, we simply didn’t know how to react,” his mother added, wiping tears from her face with her sleeve. “So we lashed out, and we took our ignorance and turned it into anger which we forced onto you. It was wrong, and I know that that’s not an acceptable excuse, but it’s the truth.”

Despite everything his parents had put him through, Conor knew they were truly sorry. Nothing said it more than their disheveled hair, his father’s eye bags darker than the abyss, or his siblings, who looked more rueful than he’d ever seen them before. Forgiveness could only be won over with forgiveness.

“It’s okay,” Conor said. “I… I really should have told you about all of this earlier. I was so busy worrying about the house and school and everything in between that it just got pushed down on the priorities list. I should’ve just come right out and said it.” He paused. “So… you’re not mad then?”

“You escaped in the middle of the night, of course we’re mad,” his mother replied. “But if you’re asking about him- ” she motioned to Eamon “- no, not at all.”

Suddenly, Conor remembered something. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the wad of money he had earned from busking so long ago and placed it in his mother’s hands. “Eamon and I went out to earn some money in order to save the house from being sold, and I never got the chance to give it to you, so… here you go.”

His mother accepted the cash with tears of joy and a quivering smile. “Conor, you’re growing up so much faster than I expected,” she said. “Where would we be without you?”

After several more minutes of weeping and hugging and scolding, Conor bid Eamon farewell and headed into the house, a giant weight lifting from his chest. The whole morning had gone much better than he had anticipated, and although his mother refused to let him off the hook and decided to ground him for an anonymous amount of time, he was feeling much better about himself and everything going on around him. The stress of keeping a giant secret had been alleviated, and he was finally able to go back to playing music and and spending time listening to records with his brother.

Of course, nothing would quite be exactly the same; but for Conor, that was just as well.

 

______

 

“Here, listen to the bass in this song, see if you like the sound of it.”

Eamon and Conor were sprawled on the floor of Eamon’s bedroom, a record player in between them and a notebook with song lyrics resting on Conor’s lap. Conor had spent two weeks confined in his home with the exception of going to school, and not being able to see his best friend had made him quite agitated. As soon as his grounding was over, he’d ran out of the school gates as fast as he could towards Eamon’s house, and now here they were, writing their first song together in weeks.

Eamon placed the needle on the record player, and the disc began to play. _Bum, bum, bum, bum-bum-bum, ba-dum-ba-dum ba…_

“Maneater by Hall and Oates?” Conor inquired dubiously, a smirk playing on his lips. “For real?”

“Wait, you know this song?” Eamon asked, astonished.

“Yeah, it’s one of Brendan’s favorites, he plays it all the time,” Conor said, laying on the floor and staring up at the cream-colored ceiling. When the lyrics started up, he quietly began to sing along. “ _She’ll only come out at night, the lean and hungry type…_ ”

“ _Nothing is new, I’ve seen her here before,”_ Eamon chimed in, breaking out into a grin.

They took turns singing verses, their voices filling up the room and drowning out the scratchiness of the record player. When the chorus came, Conor got up onto the bed and mimicked playing an electric guitar, headbanging and scrunching up his face like a professional rockstar. Eamon caught on, and grabbed his drumsticks from the top of his dresser to do a number on an invisible drumset. They danced and sang and jumped around until the last note of the song had faded out and the record had stopped spinning completely.

Eamon laughed and collapsed onto the bedspread. Conor joined him, his head spinning.

“So… I’m going to assume you really like the bass, then,” Eamon said, smiling harder than ever.

“Of course, Hall and Oates are geniuses.”

“We should definitely incorporate a beat like that into our new song.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

They lay in silence, their hearts racing. Conor looked over at Eamon, whose face was completely flushed but was still extremely happy nonetheless. His hair was tousled and lined with sweat, and his jacket sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, reminding Conor of the first time he’d sat in Eamon’s living room writing a song with him.

And at that moment, Conor realized just how much he loved his best friend.

Slowly and carefully, Conor took Eamon’s face in his hands and kissed him. As their lips collided, Conor felt something new surge through his bones. It wasn’t simply passion, or longing, but something else that made his heart wrench every time he pulled away even the slightest. No other kiss that they had shared had ever felt like this, but this was so much better than any of them combined.

“I love you, Eamon,” Conor whispered as they broke apart. “I always will.”

“I love you too,” Eamon replied, planting a gentle kiss on Conor’s forehead.

“You know what we should do?” Conor said, taking Eamon’s hand in his own. “We should start a band.”

Eamon’s eyes sparkled at the proposal. “A band?”

“Yeah, why not?” Conor offered. “You can be the lead guitarist, I’ll be the singer. All we need is other musicians, and then we’re in business. We can make, like, demo tapes of all these songs we’ve written, and then maybe get a record label and release some sort of EP.”

“That’s actually a really great idea, Conor,” Eamon said, the grin on his face far from diminishing. He grabbed the notebook and a pen and began scribbling notes onto the paper. “When do you want to start?”

Conor laughed, his friend’s enthusiasm contagious. For the first time in his life, the small gap in his heart that once contained vagueness and oblivion began to fill with warmth and radiance and endearment. A mere month ago, Conor was barely getting by, with nothing to look forward to and not a single idea of what he wanted to do with his existence.

But meeting Eamon had helped to wipe all of that away, and Conor was finally at peace with himself, having a purpose that made him cheerful and content.

“Why don’t we start right now?”

 


End file.
